Fletch's Masterpiece
by JediWriter
Summary: this is my first story for the new fletch catagory.  Fletch is sent to paris, france to reveiw a lost painting, but he uncovers something more.
1. Chapter 1

One

_Ah Los Angles. The of city life, the city of angles, the city of that never sleeps, no wait that that's a different city. My name's I. M. Fletcher, my friends call me Fletch. I am an investigative news paper reporter or at least I was. I still work at for the Times, but due to the cut backs in that last few years I had to double a sports reporter. It's not too bad, I can see all my sport games for free and the interviews aren't anything to sneeze at either._

In the area dubbed the Hollywood Hills were the rich and famous live including sports stars nestle a large modern house. Angular in size in its Art Deco like architect, the front door opens and two men step out.

"Thank you Mr. Kobe for your time," said Fletch as shook the tall Laker guard.

"No problem Fletch," Kobe smiled at him, "I'll see you at the game tonight?"

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," Fetch said as he got in to his blue 1998 Dodge Neon.

He drove back to the newspaper he worked at. His life was good. He finally paid off his ex-wife, got a new car, and he's getting the respect he should have. As he drove into his parking space, he got his old trusty tape recorder from the passenger seat and got out.

The newspaper business was slow. As Fletch entered the office, he only saw four people at their desks typing away on their computers. He walked towards his cubical when a tall busty blond woman walked passed him.

Fletch turned to the woman and said to her, "Donna, what no 'hi, how you doing', 'that was great night Fletch'?"

Donna stopped and turned to her and replied, "Oh, Fletch. Remember what I said to you about not talking to each other at the office?"

"This not an office it's a newsroom."

She rolled her eyes at his comment and continued on to the elevator.

"I'll talk to you at dinner then?" Fletch said as Donna entered the elevator and disappeared when the doors closed.

Fletch shrugged her off and placed he tape recorder on his desk. He looked, and saw his cubicle could need a little cleaning. It was cluttered with papers, forms, books, and disks. He was about to sit down when a familiar voice called to him.

"Ah Fletch, good you're back." Fetch turned his head to see it was his editor Frank. "I need you in my office, now."

Fletch sighed not knowing what he wanted, but whatever it was it was not good. He stood back up and leisurely walked to the back of the opened space room to an office.

The bald headed editor sat down in his messy desk, adjusted his round glasses as Fletch walked into the small room.

"I've been trying to call you on your cell phone for two hours. Where were you?" Frank asked.

"I have a cell phone?" Fletch replied.

"Yes, we gave you one two years ago. Don't tell me you lost it."

"Na it's not lost, I just don't bother with it."

"Cute, I'm trying to modernize this newspaper to produce efficiently and you leave your cell phone at home."

"I didn't leave it at home; it's in my back pocket."

"Then why didn't you answer it?" Frank then realized, "You didn't turn it turned on did you?"

"Come on Frank, you know I'm not into this fang dang technology. Besides I work more efficiently without one."

"How's that?"

"I don't get interrupted by your calls."

Frank then opened his drawer took out a sleek rectangular device and handed to Fletch. Fletch looked at it quizzically.

"You got a new hearing aid?" Fletch quipped.

"That is the new company's smart phone. It's also expensive so don't lose it."

"You told me I've already got cell phone. What do I want with another one?"

"Well, give me your old one. I'm upgrading you to Fletch 2.0."

Fletch, not knowing what he meant by it, dug into his back pocket, took out his old cell phone and handed back to Frank.

"Come on Frank, you know I don't know how use one of these things." He looked at it turned it over a couple of times and said, "I don't even see the dial buttons."

"Push the button on top." He then handed Fletch the quarter inch small manual it came with it.

When Fletch did, the screen on the smart phone lit up with a menu of options. Phone, E-Mail, notepad, recorder, video, it was all on there. Fletch frowned.

"Ok Frank, what the catch? Christmas was three months ago, so what's with the gifts?"

"I need you go to Paris tonight."

"Tonight? Can't. I'm going to the Laker game tonight, not unless their playing in Texas. I don't think there a basketball team in Paris, Texas is there?"

"Not Paris, Texas; Paris, France. The Louvre is unveiling a new lost painting there by Raphael and I need you there to cover it."

"The Turtle?"

"The Painter."

"Hold on, I'm not in the art and entertainment department Frank, That's Joan's job."

"Well, she's on sick leave for a few days and I need someone to cover it. It's suppose to be big news in the art world. Raphael's lost painting was discovered in a warehouse in Germany. It's estimated to be worth five million dollars."

"What about the game tonight? I can't miss that, it's my job to report every action."

"Don't worry about it I'll cover you ya."

"You? You don't even like basketball. What do you know about the sport?"

"I know enough that it needs to be covered, just like I need you to cover Raphael's painting. I got you booked on the eight o'clock flight to Paris tonight, with a connecting flight in New York."

"Oh geeze Frank, what the hell happened to this place? Everybody is covering everybody, I feel like I'm the point guard in a Laker game."

"Times are changing Fletch. People are getting their news for free on web; that means cutbacks on our side. Everybody's going digital these days and there is nothing I can do about it."

"I don't like even like France. The people there are stuck up snobs. Why don't you sent Donna? I hear that's her birth home."

"Sorry Fletch, Donna covering Dave's Restaurant reviews. But don't worry about it you'll have a great time. I hear the woman over there love American reporters."

"Really?"

"That's what I heard."

"Then why don't you go?"

He then got up to show Fletch out and replied, "I hate flying Fletch, and you know that."

Fletch sighed, stood and said, "You really hate me don't you Frank?"

"No, I don't really hate you. Hey, I gave you new phone that has everything a reporter needs."

Fletch looked at the device one more time cocked and eye brow and wondered, "Does it show what crock this is?" He then pushed a button and picture of a monkey pop up. He then showed it to Frank. "Oh here it is. This is ridiculous Frank. I don't know anything about art."

"You know what's ridiculous Fletch? I can find another reporter from the millions of unemployed in L.A. and yet I keep you. Besides you don't need to know art. All you have to do is to show up and report whatever the curator has to say. It's so simple, a monkey can do it."

"So where can we find this monkey who likes art and can fly?" Fetch asked as he showed the picture again.

"Fletch. This is all expense paid trip. I'm sending you there 'cause you need it. I seen how you behave lately Fletch, you're stuck in a rut. So I felt you needed a little get-a-way to break that. So go, have a good time."

Fletch sighed in defeat, "All right I'll go, but I won't enjoy myself. And don't except any gifts when I return."

"I'll put that down in my memoirs," Frank replied as Fletch left his office.


	2. Chapter 2

Two

As he waited in the terminal, Fletch looked at the smart phone's manual. Frank told him that he can watch the Laker game on it while he was in flight. Fletch still didn't understand it. To Fletch, it read like Greek. He didn't understand most of the instructions. It took a nearby child to show him how to get the game to show.

Fletch tried the new phone to record his thoughts. He pushed the 'Voice Memos' button. He saw a picture of a microphone and record icon on the bottom. He pressed record and began.

"It took me five hours to get me to JFK airport, with a two hour delay in New York. I finally got on the plane to Paris. It wasn't too bad; I finally get to see the Lakers win over the Nets. Heck I could of reported it, but why should I? It was probably seen on every phone on the flight. Yup, another job taken away because of the internet, or Frank. Now I'm another eight hour flight. Everybody is asleep right now, that sounds like a good idea. This Fletch signing off."

A young man sitting next to him, looked over and said, "You should blog cast that dude."

Fletch looked over and replied, "I'm not a fisherman."

Fletch then dozed off until the jet landed in Paris-Orly Airport. It was, By Paris time 7:00AM, when Fletch was awoken by female flight attendant.

He walked towards the baggage claim area in the busy airport, pick up his black suitcase, and headed towards the nearest café. After his morning coffee and few croissants Fletch decided to head over to the hotel. He took out a piece of paper that had the hotel name.

'_Great'_ Fletch thought, _'Of all the hotels in all France, Frank had to pick a hotel I can't pronounce. It's probably a cheap one if Frank picked it out.'_

Fletch stepped into the first available taxi cab as the driver said "Où Sir?"

Fletch replied, "Ill Ade? I'll I Add?"

"Qu'est-ce?"

Fletch, in defeat, showed the driver the name of the hotel.

"Ah, Iliade. Oui, Sir."

"No, just want check in, I'll wee later."

"_American, Tout ce que je n'ai pas besoin aujourd'hui_," grunted the driver.

The driver drove off into the city. Fletch seen pictures and video of the city, but they are nothing compared to the real deal. He awed at its buildings and architect. Even the woman looked like goddesses in their high fashion coats and suits. He figured it wouldn't be too bad to be here.

The driver pulled up to the narrow six story hotel. As Fletch got out with his bag, he looked up at the hotel and frowned. He looked to the driver and paid him, then went inside.

Lobby was smaller than Fletch imagined it to be. A couple small yellow imitation leather seats and a desk occupied the room. Fletch placed his bag down and rang the bell.

An old short black haired lady walked out from her small office and confronted Fletch.

"_Ou, Ou, Comment puis-je vous aider?_" she asked.

"Oh hi, I got reservation. The name's Fletch."

"Oh, you American?" She wondered with a heavy French accent.

"I sound and look like one, yes."

She went over to the computer and typed his name.

"Sorry, no name came up."

"Hmmm, Frank," Fletch started as she typed in the name, "No, no, Frank is not my name, try Jane Doe."

"Jane Doe? That is a woman's name."

"I know, that's my alias."

She raised an eye brow in question and typed in the name.

"Ah here it is," The woman said.

Fletch frowned, "Figures."

The woman turned around to the key cupboard and took a key and handed to Fletch.

"You are in room 201. It's upstairs to the left."

"Thank you, or should say merci? Been practicing that one all night," Fletch grinned as he picked his bag up and climbed the stairs.

He unlocked the door and entered the room. Fletch looked around and frowned. The room was small as the lobby. Just a single twin bed, a table lamp, and a 13' flat screen TV. He placed his bag on the bed and unpacked whatever he could. The presentation wasn't until seven o'clock tonight so he decided to get some lunch at the nearest café. He took out his smart phone and his charger and looked about for an outlet. That was until he found out Frank didn't give him the proper adapter.

"Perfect," Fletch mumbled.

He slipped his phone back in his pocked hoping he can get right adapter later. Once he got himself all set, Fletch went back to the lobby where the short old lady was.

"Excuse me. Can you tell me what a good place to eat around here? Preferably one with a bar."

"Ah, you may want to try zee Le Rez-de-Chaussée. It is very good, and only few meters away down zee street."

"Oh, merci."

Fletch walked outside. The weather was nice for this time of year. There were a few clouds that covered the sky as Fletch looked about the other shops that lined the small street. One of the reasons he didn't like going to France, was the language. He couldn't read it properly and understand what they mean. And forget about pronouncing it, he probably say it wrong and insult someone's pig or something.

He saw what looked like the right place. He saw a sign above the café windows that read: Le Rez-de-Chaussée. He walked through the door and looked about. He wondered what it was about Paris and small rooms. The café was twice as big as the lobby of his hotel. There five tables strewn through-out the place with two chairs placed next to them. There were a couple of patrons that filled the room. The bar was on the left side wall were the bartender and a man in black suit sat sipping a glass of red wine.

Fletch made his way over to the bar, sat in the tiny stool it offered, and waited until the bar tender walked over to him.

"_Comment puis-je vous aider?" _The barkeeper asked.

"Uh, yes, what do you have on tap?" Fletch asked.

"Qu'est-ce?"

Then man in the black suit looked over and said to the tender, "_Il a demandé à ce que vous avez sur le robinet."_

"_Ah, Nous ne servent pas la bière, du vin."_

The man said to Fletch in a light Canadian accent, "They don't serve beer, only wine."

"Ah ok thanks," Fletch said, "Well then, do you have Chardonnay 1980?" The tender looked at him strangely, "No? well," he look over to the man in the black suit and said, "I'll have what he's having and bring a lunch menu."

The man sitting next to Fletch smiled at him and translated to the bar man. He then turned to Fletch.

"Thanks for getting me out of that one," Fletch said.

"No problem," the man said as he extended he hand out him. Fletch shook it. "Remy. Remy Dubois.

"Fletch, I. M."

The Bar tender came back with Fletch's Drink and a menu.

"You a tourist?" Remy asked.

Fletch replied. "Does it show?"

"A little bit."

"Actually I'm a reporter for the L.A. Times."

"A reporter? What are you doing here Paris?"

"I heard the Lakers was gonna play here."

"Lakers? Oh Ha ha ha. American humor."

"Actually I'm here to interview Raphael."

"Ah, the lost painting they discovered at the Louvre."

"That's right."

"Yes, I'm also going to attend tonight as well."

"You a reporter too?"

"No, no, I am what you may consider a copy painter, from Quebec. What I do is I paint famous and expensive art sell them at an affordable price."

"Isn't that illegal?"

"Not unless you have license for it witch I have."

"So, is that why you are going to the exhibit, to copy Raph's painting?" Fletch asked as he sipped his wine.

"No, I am going there to examine it to make sure it is real." Remy replied as his cell phone rang. He took it out, looked at the small display and said, "Excuse me Mr. Fletch." He then answered it, "_Bonjour? Qu'est-ce? Que voulez-vous dire que notre client veut sortir? Écoutez-vous lui dire s'il pouvait trouver un meilleur artiste au Canada, je lui appliquera moins. oui, oui. Ok bon, bye_." He hung up and placed his cell phone back in his jacket pocket. "Sorry about that Mr. Fletch."

"Is there problem?"

"No, my sales clerk at my art boutique had question for a client. Good help is hard find these days don't you agree?"

"I can't argue with that," Fletch said as glanced at his menu. "What do you think is good here?"

"For you, I try the Filet Mignon. Very good."

"Ok, I'll try that. What make you think the painting not real?"

"There are a lot of forgers out there Mr. Fletch that paint art and make it look like it has been in storage for hundreds of years. I can authenticate any painting." Remy looked around and saw a painting of a serene lake that was hanging across the room. "That that painting for instance. From here it looks like it's real. Come." They both got up and walked over to the painting for a closer look. He pointed to small feature on the painting. "Look here, the brush strokes look like it's been in a wind storm. This painting is a copy of the original. The original artist would taken his time and stroke his brush elegantly, like making love woman."

Fletch smiled and nodded, "Now you're talking my language."

Remy laughed at his joke as the returned to the bar.

The bar keeper returned as Remy translated for Fletch what he wanted for lunch. He obliged and headed to the back where the kitchen was kept.

"So, you have family or friends here?" Fletch asked as he sipped his wine.

"I have a cousin who helps me sell my paintings. He has an art gallery on La Rue Street called 'Les Deux Bruhses'. We'll visit him while you are here."

"That'll be great. So, you think you have client who would like a copy of Raph's painting?"

"That is to be determined. In my business it's anybody's game."

Moments later the server came out with a plate and small piece of juicy cooked meat on it with garnish surrounding it.

"Ah, no I ordered entrée, not the appetizer," said Fletch disappointedly.

"That is the entrée, Mr. Fletch."

"Oh, this all I get?"

"Welcome to France." Remy smiled as he raised his glass.


End file.
